


Carpe Diem

by Muspell



Series: Leather and Metal Series [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alley Sex, Clubbing, M/M, Masturbation, OtaYuri Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell
Summary: His mind is quick to imagine Otabek’s moves on the dancefloor, light bouncing on his skin, trickling with sweat, and the bass pumping loudly in his chest.It’s gonna be an interesting night.Yuri will just have to do something about that damn choker.-----------------------------------------------------------Part two of the infamous "It was just a Phase" A.K.A "I felt like putting a dog collar on our stoic Hero".





	

They practically run off, Otabek holding Yuri by his wrist, through the hotel hallways. Yuri can feel the cellphone going crazy in his pocket; Yakov must be freaking out as well, there’s a reason why Yuri is never left alone with any nosy reporters around. These things can happen if he is.

They take the stairs to avoid as many curious stares as they can, almost giggling with excitement, unsure of what will unfold between them.

Otabek lets him go to unlock his room, stepping into it just to push Yuri’s body against the door as soon as he walks in, slamming it closed. His hands tangle in long, blond hair, tugging slightly, and Yuri feels his heart's gonna burst out of his chest; panting, he runs his fingernails through Otabek’s chest, grabbing fistfuls of that _damn_ tight shirt to support himself as he reaches out to his mouth…

And gets yanked down by the hair, clashing against the door.

“Beka…”

He can see Otabek pressing his forehead against Yuri’s, droplets of sweat glistening on his face, nesting on his collarbones, and running slowly down. His breath jagged, a bright blush dusting his cheeks, and his voice…

Otabek’s low penetrating voice, so rough Yuri can feel the vibration against his fingers, suited more for a ferocious animal than his usually quiet friend; there’s something in that tone that wakes the embers on Yuri’s body, making him whine for a bit of contact.

“Yura.” Otabek sounds definitive - he won’t back down, no matter how much Yuri is yearning for another kiss, for a taste of his lips, of his skin, of every inch… “Why did you run off?”

“Beka-” he lets out a little yelp when he feels the tug of his hair again, and bites his lip to stop himself from detailing every single image that pops up in his head at the sight of _him_ , pinning his body like this, breathing shallow and staring down, scanning every single piece of him, running his tongue softly around the edge of his teeth. There’s something primal about it all, something Yuri desperately wants to bite out of him, to discover. “I needed to kiss you.” _Every little bit of you._

He notices his friend shifting fidgeting through his hair, biting his lip harshly, deep brown eyes fixed on him like he was the last piece of meal on Earth. Yuri imagines Otabek’s lips tracing a path from his mouth to his neck and deep deep down, all teeth and tongue and hunger.

Otabek breaths deep. It sounds like a growl.

“Why did you ask me to do this?” One of Yuri’s hands moves slowly down, tracing the curves of every muscle with his fingers, brushing delicately the line of Otabek’s waist, drawing a subtle moan from him, just to be yanked right up against the door. He clenched his teeth: he’s restraining himself. “Yura, stop.” Pause. His voice still quivers. “Answer.”

Yuri takes a deep breath. He knows his voice will break the second he starts talking; his lust is stronger than him. He moves his hips forward, craving for contact and feels Otabek’s throbbing cock brushing against his own, his stupidly tight pants doing nothing to hide his erection. He whimpers when the older boy breaks contact, pulling himself further away, releasing his hand. He shows his teeth, like a predator would, in an evil smirk. “I didn’t think you’d take the ‘sex it up’ text so seriously.”

“Yura,” and a chill runs down his spine every time Otabek speaks, almost purrs, to him, “This is not a game.”

Yuri scoffs, looking straight at him for once, instead of letting his eyes wander through every little curve and crease of his body, hardly hidden under his outfit. “I’m not playing.” He pulls Otabek’s shirt hard to close the distance between them. “Come and kiss me already.”

Otabek gives in, letting go of Yuri’s hand to be dragged against his lips, clashing teeth in the hurry, a low growl pulsating in between them. “Say no, Yuri.” He tilts his head to run his teeth across the tender flesh of Yuri’s neck. “Or I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Yuri doesn’t think about it, doesn’t need to. He puts his hand around Otabek’s neck just to pull him closer, allowing the older boy’s teeth to grip onto his skin, leaving little marks along the way, sending shivers down his spine. Otabek keeps a hand entangled on the long golden locks while pulling the other one down, slowly, caressing delicately every inch of skin through the fabric and fuck, Yuri is hating whoever invented clothes in the first place right now.

But mostly whoever invented pockets. And cell phones. And fucking calls.

Because Otabek stops his hand at the second it brushes Yuri’s waist, a vibration piercing through the soft touch.

“Yura..” Otabek whispers right onto his lips, “does anyone know you’re here?”

Yuri can’t shake the intoxicating warmth of Otabek’s body against his, feeling the pulse of his rapid heartbeat onto his skin; he can’t think clearly, all he can focus on is on the deep dark eyes staring eagerly at him. He still finds his voice somehow. “...No? Just..” He presses his body forward, “Please.”

Otabek pulls backwards, shifting his hands to yuri’s shoulders to keep their distance, no matter how much the younger boy pouts at him.

“You need to go back to them, Yura.”

“What? Why?” He feels the need in his flesh, the heat bubbling up inside of him, pushing him forward, begging him to run his fingernails through every inch of Otabek’s skin, marking him as his and only his.

It’s still not enough.

“They must be worried about you,” and Otabek’s voice sound husky, deep, as if he’s trying to convince himself not to come any closer.

“Fuck them…” Yuri hears himself practically begging for contact at this point, every hair on his body on edge, his tongue dancing across his lips, “Just come back.”

“Yura…” Otabek murmured, his voice sounding more to a growl at this point, “you need to go.”

“What?”, Yuri’s lust gives a clear path to anger in a second flat, igniting inside of him in a whole different way. “Are you kicking me out? _Really?”_

Otabek’s voice breaks, almost hissing through his teeth, “You need to take the call, Yuri.”

“Fuck you,” and it sounds too aggressive, too disgusted to be followed by slim fingers curling around the leather choker and pulling so suddenly Otabek practically crashes, hard, against Yuri’s lips, who desperately gnaws and bites and licks his frustration away.

The moment their bodies touch again, the static in the air feeling like sparks on their skins, at every single touch; Yuri feels his body is about to be set aflame, heat rising in every place Otabek’s fingers lay, and grope, and grip a bit too hard  to not leave marks.

Otabek growls in between Yuri’s insistent sloppy kisses dancing to his mouth, across his jaw and down to the edge of his necklace to jump back again, “If they find you here…,” teeth run roughly  up the tender flesh of his neck to close around Otabek’s bottom lip again. He feel the particular metallic taste of blood on his mouth. He doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop, “They will stop you from coming tonight.”

“Tonight?” Yuri pulls away so fast his head bangs into the door. Though he winces at it, he refuses to admit he’s in pain, “What’s happening tonight?”

Otabek’s breath is still jagged, shallow, his tongue tasting copper and lust. It takes a moment for him to reply, “Anything you want.”

“Oh?” Yuri can’t help but smile at the well bitten lips, the pink streaks on his neck, the hair disheveled and the bulge in his pants, as if he was admiring a masterpiece he’s just finished. But there was still some work to do. “Why not now?”

“They’re looking for you, Yura.” Otabek runs his hands through his hair, perhaps to fix it, perhaps just to be able to keep his hands away from Yuri. “You need to go back.”

Yuri is prone to quick impulsive responses, but this? This is too much of a good opportunity to let pass just for a tantrum, a _need_. He’s gonna take what is his, that’s for sure. He smirks. “Anything?” He remembers. Eyeing the sweaty, messy, filthy vision that was Otabek Altin before him, he clicks his tongue. “Fine. But don’t take the bike tonight. I’ll text you.”

He turns around and gets away as confidently as he can manage to pretend he is, just to storm off into his own room, hoping they won’t be there.

But they are.

And they’re not happy.

  


“Where were you? We’ve been calling you all day!” Yakov is yelling right at his face, having launched himself onto him the minute he crossed the door. Lilia is just gazing at them, nerves on edge yet respectfully seated on the desk chair, hand on her lap.

“That stunt you did out there, young man, is unforgivable, indecent, it’s… it’s..” Lilia can’t even manage to say it. Nasty. Hungry.

Fucking sexy.

Just like Otabek’s exhibition skate.

Yuri remembers his moves, the jumps, the cantilever, the crook of his back flashing under the translucent fabric…. He needs to stop himself.

He realizes he’s biting his lip again, fidgeting hands in his pockets. One of them tightly grips his now silent phone.

“And what the hell happened to your neck??” He huffs at Yakov and walks around him in long strides to throw himself gracelessly on the bed. “Yuratchka, what are we gonna do with the reporters? You just-”

“I don’t care.” he tries to appear unreachable as always, scowling, yet the smirk creeps onto his face. He hides it well this time. “You talk to them. Say I got sick or delusional or something.”

Lilia is about to protest, yet she gets stopped. “Fine. But you’re staying here until we decide what to do with all of this tomorrow.” He doesn’t answer. He knows already he’s not staying: he’s got a plan and it’s gonna happen. He’s on a row after all. “You better not do _anything else_ to call the attention of reporters.” He barely nods. “Are you even-”

“YES I HEARD YOU.” He snaps, sitting up suddenly. “I’ll be a good boy and stay on my spot and wiggle my tail at reporters.” He can almost see the vein about to burst on the side of Yakov’s forehead at the comment. He snorts to himself at the comparison; he can’t stop thinking about the dog collar.

The guy has a fucking dog collar. He just has to do something about that.

“You better be, boy.”

They finally leave him alone. He immediately fishes out his phone.

_ < you said you have gone clubbing. Where? _

_ > why? _

_ < where _

_ > industrial metal clubs and such. _

 

Industrial. Huh? Interesting. Yuri is secretly glad De la Iglesia is so trusting he’d just say yes to everything.

His mind is quick to imagine Otabek’s moves on the dancefloor, light bouncing on his skin, trickling with sweat, and the bass pumping loudly in his chest.

He abandons the phone somewhere on the bed. He puts his hands down under his leggins.

It’s gonna be an interesting night.

Yuri will just have to do something about that damn choker.

 

* * *

Shower. Instagram browsing.

Phichit’s apparently insistent stalking of every other skater throughout the hallways and lobby of the hotel infects Yuri’s feed, to the point that there’s practically nothing else he can look at. Phichit with Katsudon and Viktor, smiling a bit too tiredly. Phichit with Chris kissing his cheek, startling him. Phichit with a cute blushing young boy, next to a Leo de la Iglesia draping over him with one arm while holding the other one over someone else’s shoulders.

Yuri’s mouth suddenly goes dry.

Otabek Altin, fresh out of the shower. Hair positively dripping wet, leaving shadows on his white shirt, five o'clock shadow. And a tiny, shy smile. Sideways smile, the one he lets out when he would be grinning if it wasn’t because of the staring it would cause. Yuri can’t take his eyes off of it. Off of him. And the hand hovering over his shoulder.

Because he notices, he knows Leo is not holding him, not even touching him, just holding two fingers up for the picture in a way Otabek would look still like a part of it. And it shouldn’t be a big deal if he was, right? They’re friends, after all. They _were_ friends at least.

Yuri starts wondering if Otabek was with him the same he was with others. If he allowed every friend of his (who even _were_ they?) to hug him like Yuri did, to mock him and curse at him and flirt with him as Yuri did. If he let them touch him as he has.

They did go _clubbing_ together. Apparently, often as well.

He pulls up his map app and types the text as as soon as he finds exactly what he was looking for.

< _were going dancing tonight. Dress up and be on the lobby around midnight_

_ > Dancing? What have you got planned, Yura? _

_ < i wanna see ur moves _

_ > You have already. I wanna see yours. You better own the dancefloor tonight. _

_ < ill own YOU if you bring that shit dog collar again. _

_ > I’ll keep that in mind ;) _

 

Yuri has a sort of dinner date prior to the club anyways, with Viktor and Katsudon and the whole internet hysteria from his dumb, impulsive (and so so fucking needed) kiss right by the sides of the rink where everyone could take a picture. And they, in fact, have, in a good number of different angles.

In every one it’s him who pulls Otabek by the choker, opening his mouth to meet him. In every one Otabek answers.

In every one, he smiles against Yuri’s lips.

 

He is gonna have to deal with a lot of scolding and teasing and sappy comments from the gross lovebirds, sure, but he’ll have his reward afterward; he’s sure of it.

And he’s not one to say no to a free dinner either.

 

* * *

  


It’s exhausting.

The compassionate glances. The pats on his forearm. The comments about a “relationship” that does not exist.

So, he kissed his best friend. On live television. Surrounded by cameras. Out of the fucking blue. Yes, bad choice. No, they’re not dating. Yes, he’s gonna be more careful. As in, never doing that shit again.

Thanks for the meal, but he needs to go. He needs to change, he needs to get _ready_. He’s got a lot to do tonight.

  


He stands impatiently at the corner of the hotel, just in case another skater sees him and tries to drag him out somewhere; most of the tourist hot spots were in the other direction anyways. He waits for Otabek to come down for about five minutes, which feels like hours. He stares at him for about 30 seconds afterwards, which feels like _days_ . Specially because he’s not sure he’s breathing while he takes in the vision that is his friend: combat boots, skinny ripped jeans that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, tight v-neck sleeveless shirt and _the choker._

“I told you not to bring it,” Yuri says in a huff, hiding his face on the darkness of the sidewalk.

“Did you, now?” Otabek smirks and reaches out to brush his fingers delicately against the twin braids, which pull Yuri’s hair back on one side of his face to fall behind his ear and over his shoulder. “That wasn’t what I read.”

Yuri feels a shiver running down his spine and starts walking. “Come on, it’s this way.” The heels on his boots seem to resonate all across the empty street. He can hear Otabek snickering behind his back, swiftly catching up to him.

  


The club is loud enough so they don’t listen to any lewd comment thrown onto them as they make their to the bar, dark enough so no one recognizes, if that were possible in the first place, and crowded enough so no one focus their attention on the odd couple they really make: Otabek dressed completely in black but Yuri, tall and slender, bright blond hair cascading over his shoulder to the middle of his back. The lights flickering onto the shimmering black shirt hanging from only one shoulder and almost reaching his thighs, tight in tiger print leggins.

Yuri can see himself on the mirror behind the spirits and smiles at his own reflection while Otabek orders something. He hears the clinking of the ice cubes against the glass when he leans next to him on the bar, sipping on his own glass. Yuri takes the drink with confidence, trying not to pull a face when he finally tastes it. A screwdriver with cheap, shitty vodka. Poorly done too; he’d swear it’s way too strong. He can’t expect much of a club like this: he allows the deep electronic beat of the music dig right into his bones as Otabek glances at him, barely smiling.  

Yuri takes another big gulp of his drink, gets up and in between Otabek’s legs, close enough to feel the warmth of the older boy’s thighs around him but not to be able to touch those lips again so easily. His eyes travel incessantly from the shiny leather around his neck to the swollen red lips (he swear he tasted blood, he wonders if there’s a mark, a wound in there somewhere) to the dark chocolate eyes fixated on him, following every move of his hips slowly getting used to the music, and back again.  

Otabek moves carefully, without breaking eye contact for a second: he raises the glass he’s been cradling, takes the straw in between his lips, drinks, lick his lips cleans, puts down the glass again. Yuri stops breathing for a second, absentmindedly showing off his fangs like he learnt Otabek likes, his tongue dancing across the edge of his teeth. His mind races, his heart seems to pump with the bass that penetrates through his chest; he downs the rest of his drink, inelegantly, and slams the glass down as a way to recover any control of his own body. He looks back up and loses it all. Reaches in closer to Otabek who just stares impassively at his every move, tempted to know if this new sensation in his lips is infatuation of some kind or just the booze. He sees him mouthing something but can’t quite catch what it is, so he leans in, brushing his lips against the crook of Otabek’s neck, earning a deep suppressed moan from him.

“Yura…” He waits until the blonde looks up again, “dance with me.”

Yuri stands up and lets Otabek take him by the hand to the dancefloor, trying to ignore the way the floor seems to move on its own under his feet. He refuses to be such a lightweight: yes, he might have drank a few glasses of wine with dinner, but the night is just starting and he won’t end up passed out at some forgotten corner of the world just for one glass of vodka after, what, an hour of drinking, tops? No way ….

The next songs starts, low and delicate, a deep voice growling inside of Yuri’s ribcage. The lights flicker bright against his closed eyelids, somehow making the numbness on his lips and the tip of his fingers more noticeable. The soft touch of Otabek’s hands tracing delicately from his hips to his waist and back again, moving him along the music at an hypnotizing pace ignite sparks, little embers all across Yuri’s skin. He can’t tell about the crowd around them, the voices, the noises. It’s only him and Otabek, the light and the smoke and the music carving deep within him.

_“[When our souls fly high above ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPmmea6KX4c)_

[ _Or bodies play their favorite games_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPmmea6KX4c)

[ _We climb, we climb toward the light_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPmmea6KX4c)

[ _Crawling on each other's skin_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPmmea6KX4c)

[_Crawling on each other's skin..._ _”_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPmmea6KX4c)

 

The strident guitars chime in, powerful against the electronic beat; Otabek swirls Yuri around like he was weightless, to pull him against his body, hips in sync like they were one.

Yuri shivers at the touch, a burning flame against his skin, enveloping him as Otabek explores every inch of skin available with the sway of his hips, the fingernails running under Yuri’s shirt softly, squeezing delicate moans out of him, muted by the music. The blonde feels his back arching as a reflex, his head landing on Otabek’s shoulder; the heat against his ass as he leans on his friend’s thighs for support restores the courage he knows he wouldn't have if it wasn’t for the drinks he’s had. He licks his lips just to feel the numbness against his tongue, and reaches back over his shoulder to curl a couple of fingers under the choker, pulling a jagged shallow breath closer to his ear.

“Should I have brought my leash?”

He hears snickering, and suddenly his body flinches and relaxes back against Otabek’s, when his mouth runs delicately, licking softly from Yuri’s exposed collarbone, to his neck and up to gnaw at his lobe.

“You don’t have control here, Yura.”

Yuri feels the staring now, the sudden moan that escapes him attracting too many glances to them, and turns to face Otabek again.

“I’m bored,” the breathy, hungry tone he uses would suggest otherwise, and Yuri doesn’t hide it, “take me out.”

Otabek says nothing, only takes Yuri’s hand away from his neck and leads him out through the emergency exit, to a little empty alley where there’s nothing but a dumpster and a few stray cats running off. The older boy tries to get to the main street, probably to get a cab, when the hand in his pulls him back and pushes him against the wall, right next to the dumpster. The pressure under his choker comes back.

“Yura, what are you doing?”

Yuri knows by his friend’s face he must look completely gone; wobbling slightly on his feet, the words rolling slurred off of his mouth, the numbing throb on his skin now reaching his limbs, He still bites his lip in anticipation, eyes fixated on Otabek like he was the last meal on earth and fuck, he’s hungry.

“Beka, I’m bored,” he realizes the words get too long on their own, partially because of the alcohol on his system and partially because of the little whimpers he tries hard to hide to no avail. He’s very much aware of his erection throbbing against his leggings, the fabric way too thin to stop the mesmerizing sensation when he leans in on Otabek, pushing his knee in between the older boy’s legs. He can feel Otabek is not in a very different situation, growling through his teeth and throwing his head back the second Yuri rubs his thigh against his crotch. “Play with me?”

Otabek grips the edge of the dumpster with one hand for support while the other clutches the wall behind him. He breathes in deep before speaking, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yura, you..” But Yuri is relentless, rubbing his thigh against Otabek’s painful hardon everytime he tries to speak. “You’re sure this is…” Yuri presses harder. “Fuck, Yura-”

“Yes.” He leans closer to kiss Otabek, hungrily, biting his lower lip, tasting the cheap booze and lust. “I want to. Please.” He realizes he’s begging but the part of his mind that makes rational decisions is too numb to notice that actually grinding against your best friend in a back alley after you kissed him during an international broadcast wasn’t exactly one of his brightest ideas.

He won’t stop now. He can’t stop now.

Otabek gives in, pulling himself barely forward and returning the kiss, his tongue exploring the warmth of Yuri’s lips, the sharpness of his canines, the moisture of his tongue; his body rubbing against Yuri’s thigh, pleading for contact again. He moans in Yuri’s mouth.

Yuri loses it.

He places a hand in the hand of Otabek’s neck to deepen the kiss while letting his other hand explore every curve and crease on the boy’s chest, slowly, feeling the pulse of his panting against the tips of his fingers; Otabek follows his lead, his free hand running through Yuri’s back under his too big shirt, ending up right above his ass and guiding his motions.

Yuri can feel every muscle in his body tense every time their hips meet, his breath caught in his throat suddenly and let go in a pathetic little whimper against Otabek’s mouth, who keeps on moaning in a volume Yuri didn’t know he could even speak, in a tone too feral, too eager. He bites, harder. He savors the new taste in his mouth.

He decides he likes it.

Otabek growls when Yuri finally reaches the waistband of his jeans and tentatively brushes his fingers against his erection. He pulls back, his head hitting the wall, “Yura, wait.”

Yuri pouts but doesn’t move closer, letting his hand falls from the back of Otabek’s neck to his chest. He can’t find his own voice in between the blurry vision and the tension in every muscle, the tingling under his skin, the _heat._ He mouths a silent “please”, panting. Otabek is not much better, completely leaning against the wall, hand gripping the filthy plastic dumpster besides him so hard his knuckles turn white, “Are you..” he manages to let out in between hard breaths; Yuri can’t help but get lost on the soft motion of his chest, up and down, the light sneaking in from the main street following on his side, dancing on the folds of his clothing, emphasizing the notorious bulge in his pants. He lick his lips, absentmindedly.  “Are you sure, Yura?”

Yuri doesn’t answer: he closes the distance between them to kiss him again, this time slowly, softly, tender. Otabek takes Yuri’s hand and guides it down, painfully slow, unzipping his pants for him.

Yuri takes his time, savouring the warmth against his hand, the soft fabric of his underwear, the waistband stretching around the back of his hand, the…

He gasps the moment Otabek moans into his mouth, pleading. He feels the older boy’s smooth skin burning like embers under his fingers, slowly running along the shaft to the tip already moist with precum, pulling back slowly. Otabek moans again, louder, and Yuri seals his mouth with a kiss.

“Shut up.” One thrust and Otabek whimpers, letting his head fall back against the wall, “Shut up or I’ll stop.” Another thrust. The boy bites his lip in order not to scream.

Yuri’s self control is completely gone at this point; he feels intoxicated, but not drunk. No, this is something else; he moves in to rub Otabek’s twitching cock against his own through his pants, staring straight at him, hissing through his teeth, eyes closed and his hand still on Yuri’s back, digging his fingernails on his skin.

He’s aware of the little pathetic meowing like sounds escaping his lips but he can’t stop them: he hides on the crook of Otabek’s neck to leave small wet kisses on every inch of uncovered skin. He feels him trembling slightly at the touch of his mouth.

Otabek raises the bar: he leans in to bite into Yuri’s neck, kissing the mark afterwards and starting again at the sound of every moan. Yuri can hear him mumbling words he can’t recognize along with his name into his skin, feel him thrusting into his now steady hand, limbs tensed up tight and hand curling into fists, harder and faster every time, holding him in place.

Otabek pulls his boxers over his cock and Yuri’s hand again as he bites into the blonde’s tender flesh one last time to drown a scream, growing quiet, panting. He doesn’t push Yuri away as he keeps on grinding onto him, taking him to the edge of oversensitivity.

Yuri pulls his hand away, cum webbing in between his fingers, hesitant. Otabek takes the filthy hand to his mouth, running his tongue slowly over each one of his fingers in long strokes without breaking eye contact. Yuri feels his chest is gonna burst. That oxygen has stopped reaching into his lungs. That his whole skin is numb, his muscles tense, his eyes glassy, and a relentless fire inflames him from the inside out, consuming him.

He can swear his sees stars under his eyelids when he finally comes, head drop back and a loud whimper suffocated by Otabek’s hand on his mouth. He has never felt this exhausted in his life; his legs buckle under his weight and Otabek hugs him tight, breathing hard against his ear.

He can hear Otabek’s name whispered in the air; he can barely recognize his own voice.

“You’re gonna drive me mad. ” Otabek murmurs onto Yuri’s hair. He gives himself a moment to gather his thoughts.

“For fucking on an alley? You’re weak, Altin.” He practically gasps as a response, trying to sound confident.

“Yeah…” Otabek breaths out and stands up slowly, fixing his pants yet holding Yuri close with one arm. “That too.”

  


They snuggle together on the seat of the cab back to the hotel, Otabek with his back against the window and Yuri laying on his chest, dozing off every time he felt the older boy’s hands playing with his hair, taking away the last trace of the braids.

He knows he’s gonna have to deal with his actions tonight, with the way Otabek makes him feel just by staying close, reaching out, in any way. He knows Yakov will be pissed, and Lilia will scold him to no end, And Viktor and Mila would tease him if they ever found out. He knew the press would kill for the news. He knows the true challenge, the consequences will come by the next morning.

But for now, Otabek is cuddling him, softly, humming close to his ear, and he just can’t be bothered with none of it: the warmth of their bodies together feels too right to be so wrong. He won’t take it.

“Yura..” He hums in response, the fingers massaging his scalp are putting him to sleep already. “Was this… Was I your first?”

Yuri freezes. He hasn’t thought about it: he just followed his primal instincts, assuming Otabek would stop him if things get somehow ugly. Then again, fondling some guy isn’t _that_ serious, is it? Even though he’s dreamt about it for so long, after every late night Skype call when the training didn’t tire him enough to stop himself; after every silly flirty conversation even when he pretended it didn’t affect him.

It’s not that big of a deal, isn’t it?

He nods, incapable of saying anything.

“Yura, I’m sorry…” Why? He wanted to turn and face him, to yell at him he didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t hurt him, “Look.. I really like you-”

“I don’t regret any of it.”  Yuri says sharply, as a matter of fact. He won’t allow Otabek to feel like he’s taken something from him. At least anything he wasn’t willing to give him anyways. “Don’t apologize for stupid shit.”

He feels a kiss on the top of his head and the arm around his middle holding him tighter.

He’s got the morning after to think about it, to figure out Otabek’s words, to think…

He takes the hand on his stomach to intertwined his fingers.

“Your hair is beautiful, Yura.” He chuckles.

“So is your dick.” He yelps when Otabek pulls his hair.

“You dirty little idiot.”

 

He’s got a lot to process. But not now, not like this.

Tomorrow will be a new day.

 


End file.
